Mining
by The Write
Summary: Mining is hard work. Occasionally Tom offers a day for his workers to spend time with their family, but what if you have none?


Mining is dirty work. The type of work that can kill you. The air is always so hot and stifling, thick with the pollution, coal residue that gets into every crease, every fold of clothing, of hair and skin and nails. Hard work that either makes or breaks you. Not everyone can mine, especially not deep mining.

Sometimes you happen to get lucky when you're mining. You strike gold or some other precious substance. But that rarely happens, especial when the main objective is to find coal, coal that would keep your country, and the world working.

Harry stared down at the paper in his hands almost completely yellow from old age. The headline read 'The Golden Boy' with a picture of himself, dirty and smudged up from mining all day and night, standing there, smiling through squinted eyes that weren't used to such bright flashes after hours and hours of dark, foggy, mine light. His hair was as messy as usual, thick with black dust that seemed to make matters worse. His skin glistened with grey sweat, his glasses slightly askew. It was supposed to be the happiest day of his life but, really, it was the most confusing. For the second time in his life he'd met Tom, the man that was above –not behind- all of the mining, he was the reason they poured sweat and blood from the early hours of morn to the late hours of night.

The man, he remembered, was tall and pale with properly cut short black hair that put his mop to shame. Everything about the man put Harry to shame. Where Harry's clothes were worn and ruined by countless months of mining, Tom's were clean, crisp and new. He got rich off of their labor. But the miners couldn't complain because they knew what they'd signed up for when they placed their signature on the line. It was like signing your soul over for the next couple of years.

Right at the edge of the picture Harry could see the outline of Ronald, a man he'd met a week after he'd started this job. The first thing that had caught Harry's eye was the shockingly bright head of red hair. It set him apart from all of the rest of the men here. When ever Harry saw it he knew instantly who it was. Somehow they'd managed to become friends though their relationship was a shifty one; they didn't really talk a lot, it was more like they found someone to sit with so they wouldn't alone.

Harry barely noticed the small bed dip with the weight of another as he stared down at the article in his hand. His bright green eyes flew over the words with the speed of someone who already knew what they said.

"Reading that old thing again, Harry?"

Harry sighed, his shoulders sagging. "Yeah, again." He looked over at Ronald who seemed just as bone wary as he. It was just after shower time between din and bed, the time that most of the guys spent winding down, writing letters… observing past accomplishments. He folded the paper and placed it under his pillow where it always lay waiting to be extracted. He closed his eyes and leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees, his hands on his forehead.

Visiting week was here again, it was the week that you could invite all of your family over to catch up and talk over a picnic that Tom provided himself, though he never attended. Harry wondered what his family would have been like, would he have kids? He pictured a small boy with black hair just as wild as his running towards him, yelling his name until he collided with Harry's legs, hugging his knees while burying his face in the worn fabric. He pictured himself swooping down to pick up his son, kissing him on the forehead, cheeks and even the corner of his mouth, still sticky from a grape icy that his mother had bought earlier to keep him quiet.

And his wife, who would she be? Would she be the elegant type, the kind that wore sundresses and kept her hair out, doing thoughtful, kind things like bringing him books she thought he'd fancy, or smuggle in a bottle of champagne to share on their own over a lunch she'd packed herself? What would she look like? Who would her parents be? Would their love be real?

"What about you?" Harry asked.

Ron looked over at him, confused.

Harry realized that his question was out of the blue. "I mean, do you have family, a wife and brothers and sisters?" He watched carefully for any sign that he might be bringing up bad memories.

"Oh," Ron looked down at his hands then back over at Harry, his face arranged in a sort sad reminiscence. "I had a wife once, before all of this started." He gestured around the spacey quarters with his left hand, the right resting on his knee. "She and I met during school. We were pretty clueless of each other until we were paired together for some project that I can't remember. She was brilliant, you know, smart and funny and very pretty. She wanted children, wanted to settle down together. I wanted the same but we needed money. I found this job and began working. For the first couple of months everything was fine. She visited on visiting weeks, we had the most incredible sex," Harry chuckled at that, relaxing back on the small old cot they provided. "We talked about a whole manner of things and sometimes just sat in silence, liking that we were near each other, had each other for company. But then she started to get upset that I wasn't home more often, that she had to come to me. She said that this was not the kind of life she imagined. She said we couldn't have kids if I was always gone and she refused to go through pregnancy without me." Ron sighed, closing his eyes for a minute. "We got a divorce shortly after and she said it was for the best. As for siblings, I have plenty of those though my mum and dad died not so long ago from natural causes. They're all so busy, they write to me when they can, the same for me, but we're pretty distant." They fell silent with only the chatter of those around them to fill it. Then Ron asked, "You?"

Harry blinked up at the ceiling, both hands behind his head, one knee bent, foot just at the edge of the bed. "No, not any worth mentioning." He said no more. Thankfully Ron left it at that.

"Have you heard about Neville, the bloke with the teeth?" Ron asked.

Harry smiled, everyone always referred to Neville that way, 'the bloke with the teeth'. Harry shook his head. "No, what about him?"

"Says he's found something other than coal in the mines last week. He won't tell anyone about it but he suspects the watchers know. He refuses to mine in any other spot. Riddle will have him for it if Neville finds something and doesn't report it." Ron ran a hand down the side of his face, letting it rest on his neck.

"How do you know?" Harry asked.

"Oh, I overheard him talking to Seamus in the baths." His face began to heat up. "That was before they started making those strange noises."

Harry perked up. "Strange noises?"

"Yeah, grunting and all that." Ron flushed even deeper.

"Right." Harry couldn't stop a smirk coming on. "Suppose they're getting real friendly now?"

"Maybe, I don't want to think about it."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence both thinking about what Neville and Seamus could be doing. Harry thought he might tease the two about it later. He wanted to ask Ron when this had happened but didn't want to seem too interested, or give reason to be suspicious of Harry's sexuality. That was the last thing he wanted. He already felt out of place, with all the whispers and jealous stares he got whenever he was invited to have dinner with the Riddle's at their luxurious estate. It wasn't like he could refuse and he always told his house mates every chance he got what a bastard the man was but he never said it when any of the watchers were around.

"Harry?"

"Hm?"

"Are you coming?"

Harry opened one eye and peered over at Ron. "What?"

"The bell just rang for din, are you coming?" Ron repeated.

"Oh, yeah." Harry got up with a helping hand from Ron and they both set out for dinner.

"Hey Seamus?"

Seamus looked at Harry through the mirror, brushing furiously at his teeth, eyebrows raised to show that Harry had his attention.

"I was wondering, Neville has been acting sort of strange don't you think? He's always hanging around you, kind of stalking." Harry made a vain attempt to comb his hair down; just water alone would not do the trick. Harry was sure that cement would not hold down his unruly hair.

Seamus brushed for a few more seconds before spitting out in the sink. "No, not really. He's alright."

Harry set down his comb and picked up his own toothbrush. "You like him following you around, then?"

"Sort of like Ron follows you?"

Harry paused and looked over at Seamus. "He doesn't follow me."

"Neville doesn't follow me. We're friend's Harry, me and Neville. Is that alright with you?"

Harry sensed the temper building in the man next to him and decided that he would question Seamus later. "Yeah, that's alright Seamus." Seamus stared at Harry, his eyes squinting in suspicion.

"You're odd." He stated, and then rinsed out the basin he was hovering over before filling it with a mixture of warm water and soap. He dabbed the mix onto his face and produced his razor, starting to shave. "So, what's it like visiting the Riddles? I heard you saying that Tom was a bastard. Is that true or is it just an attempt to make everyone feel better for not being invited?"

Harry felt a pang of guilt. "It's nice but he thinks everyone is below him, especially us miners."

Seamus snorted, "If it weren't for us he wouldn't be living in that stupid posh house of his. Suppose he wants to invite the least dirty of us."

Harry nearly blanched. "My hands get just as dirty as yours." He stated, feeling defensive suddenly.

"Right, but you found gold, so it's different. Damn!" He'd nicked himself on the chin.

There was nothing really that Harry could say. It did seem that Seamus was right. He decided on a subject change. "Having family over tomorrow?"

"Yeah, parents coming over for a while. I invited my girlfriend over but I'm not so sure about her. You know how that goes." Seamus cleaned his blade off in the basin and started another careful stroke.

"Hm," Harry agreed though he didn't really. "That sounds nice."

Before Seamus could ask about Harry and his family, someone walked in to join them. "Hey Harry, Seamus."

"Ron." Both men said simultaneously.

He took the basin between the two and started to draw his water. "So nice not to have to mine tomorrow. A whole week off to do as we like."

"Heaven." Seamus chuckled.

"All the hot showers we want." Ron added.

"As much food as we can eat." Harry supplied.

"I wonder why Tom never attends any of the events." Ron said. "He is in charge of them, it would only seem polite."

"Like he cares about being polite to us." Seamus said, then added, "Unless we've found gold."

Harry clenched his teeth. "I think I'm going to bed now. S'later."

Harry lay in his bed, darkness swallowing the forms of everyone around him. He was still comfortably full from dinner and felt refreshed from his shower and quick cleanup in the washroom. His bed was soft but old and worn. Every time he moved the springs groaned in protest. The sheets were delightfully thick and warm, a stark contrast to the chill of the room. Soft snores and sleepy murmurs filled the room, there was even a whispered conversation going on across the far end that he couldn't quite make out.

He thought back to his days with the Dursley's, the years before he'd moved out. His uncle Vernon was less inclined to shout and yell at him as he had grown older fearing, most likely, that he would go to the police. Aunt Petunia had still been bossy, snippy and mean as ever. Dudley continued to beat up kids younger than him, his weight shifting from mostly fat to mostly muscle. Rows with him weren't desirable though sometimes it was inevitable. He wondered if they were still the same after not hearing a word from him for three maybe four years.

"You awake Harry?" Ron's voice carried over to his bed, barely a whisper.

He was silent for a beat then, "Yeah."

"Don't worry about what Seamus said. He was just being a idiot."

"I know it's just…" He trailed off, not knowing exactly what it 'just' was.

There was a long, heavy silence then Ron snickered. "Seamus found his first grey hair."

That brought a smile to Harry's face. "I thought he was only in his twenties?"

"He is." Ron snickered again then there was a loud groan as he shifted in his bed just beside Harry's. "You should have seen him, he told me to swear I wouldn't tell anyone, said he'd give me a slice of his check every week."

"He's really desperate." Harry said, chuckling.

"Probably doesn't want Neville to find out."

That had them both stifling laughs.

"Do you think it's odd that Seamus fancies men?" Ron asked, out of the blue once the laughs had died down.

Harry frowned and wondered why Ron would ask such a random question. "Er, not really. I mean, I don't mind that he fancies blokes. He can do what he likes. How about you?"

"No, I don't mind either. It's probably not that bad."

Harry's eyes widened. Was that a hint? He didn't know how long he'd let the silence settle before he spoke again. "Do you fancy blokes Ron?" His stomach knotted, then knotted doubly so when there was no answer. It seemed that Ron had fallen asleep.

Harry woke the sounds of feet shuffling across the wooden floors and excited chat about who was coming to visit who and what was to be expected. He lay there, not opening his eyes, just drinking in the chatter of deep voices and the ruffling of clothing, the hiss of showers far off in another room.

"Get up; we know you're awake Harry."

It was Dean. Harry blinked open his eyes, squinting up at the man hovering over him. "How did you know?" He asked his voice thick with sleep still.

"You snore; once it grew silent I knew either you'd died or you were awake."

Harry sat up abruptly. "I do not snore." He objected almost childishly.

"You do, now get up before you miss breakfast." Dean smiled and made his way over to his own bed. "Is someone coming to see you this time?"

Shaking his head, Harry sat up and stretched. He missed the pair of blue eyes looking him over. "No, not this time. Not ever probably."

"Sad. Not many coming over for me. Just my father. He's really been supportive of all of this even though I know he disapproves of the danger." Dean sat down on his bed and pulled on his steel toe rubber boots.

"You're not going to wear i those /i awful things are you Dean?" Ron asked as he passed their beds, on his way for a shower. He paused to eye Dean's ensemble.

"Yeah, I am. Is there a problem?"

Harry was reminded of Seamus when he asked –sarcastically of course- if it was alright that he and Neville be friends.

"It's a bit out of place, is all. I just thought… But if you want to wear them who am I to stop you?" Ron continued on, throwing a glance over at Harry.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Shouldn't matter if I decided to prance around wearing nothing i but /i these boots." He mumbled.

"Don't think that's a good idea." Harry said as he shifted down his bed towards the trunk that sat at the foot of it.

"Why not? We're all guys here. I've nothing that you don't right?" Dean stood adjusting his trousers.

"I'm not sure about that." That earned Harry a pillow about the head, knocking his glasses off of his nose. Luckily they landed on the bed beside him. He laughed and grabbed a change of clothes. They were still worn and shabby from over use and mining but he would look no different from any of the rest of the guys here.

He took his time in the shower for once. Not many guys were there, most had already washed up. Harry always washed quickly when there were more than ten blokes. He was self conscious even after a year of working here with open showers.

Hot water splayed out of the metal shower head, pelting against his tanned skin, warming the aching muscles beneath it. Harry loved that ache; that dull pull every time he moved that told him he'd done something productive, sweated, worked hard. Whenever he stretched, those muscles loosened and pulsed with a weird sort of pleasure.

Sighing, Harry tilted his head back as he caught stray water droplets along the underside of his chin. He could stand like this forever as long as the water stayed as hot as it was and as long as his legs could support his weight but he didn't have forever to shower so instead he picked up his bottle of shower gel and squeezed a bit out, lathering himself from head to toe all the while the water washed away whatever it could.

Mining was a stressful, hot, dirty job and it was nice to be able to alleviate some of that built up tension here in this warm sauna-like room.

Back in the bedding area, it was nearly empty just as the showers had been. Harry sat down on his bed, reaching down under it for his trainers.

The view was simply amazing; there was no other way to describe it. Mountains surrounded Harry everywhere he turned his green gaze. Everything had a blue, foggy haze to it. The sharp edges of the towering mountains dipped low and out of sight, giving way to thick clumps of evergreen forests. Clouds clung to the tips like an anchor, hiding their peaks. Some mountains even had healthy trees climbing up their sides like moss. The sky above was a clear, sharp blue with few clouds like white scuff marks.

Harry sat on one of the rare flat spaces of rock where soft grass grew, the sun bore down just perfectly, and the wind was always a brush away. It was also a good place to observe the picnic below, though the people were almost nothing but little ants from this high up. With his legs folded, arms around his knees, hair growing more and more scruffy by the second with the wind combing its fingers through it, he felt like an outsider looking in, spying.

Voices caught his ears, barely audible through the _shush_ of crisp air. Harry pulled his jacket tighter around him, pulling his knees closer to his chest. He hoped that if he made himself small enough that he would be overlooked, that no one would notice him sitting there all by himself.

Slowly the voices disappeared just as they had come.

Harry was alone again, left to his thoughts.

Closing his green eyes, he exhaled and let his mind wander.

He thought of Ron since that was the first person that had come to mind when his eyes closed. Ron, with his amazingly red hair and bright smile. The dozens of innocent freckles crossing the bridge of his nose barely visible on his tanned skin. Ron with his strong laugh and cheery spirit, always there to please and willing to help. Ron with eyes as clear blue and deep as the very skies Harry sat under. Yes, Ron, with defined muscles that flexed so enticingly with every move. Ron, whose voice had been smooth and deep last night, who had suspiciously fallen asleep when Harry had asked him about liking men.

"Hiya Harry."

Ron, who had somehow crept up on Harry with the silence of the very secrets that were held deep inside him.

Harry's eyes popped open and he turned his head up and over to look into the eyes of Ronald Weasley. "Ron." Harry greeted, a lazy smile spreading across his face. He blinked and turned his face back towards the view below them.

"Mind if I join you? I brought food." And he had. He carried a small wicker basket that he had obviously nicked from the picnic below. "Just some odds and ends, things that wouldn't be missed."

Oddly, that sounded fantastic to Harry. "Sure, Ron. Have a seat." He said, never taking his eyes off of the sight below. He felt nervous all of a sudden, as if something very big were about to happen. He swallowed and brushed his fingertips across his forehead, revealing the small scar there. He had gotten it the day his parents died when he was too young to remember. The only thing he could call to mind was a flash of green light and the blood curdling screams.

When he was older his Aunt Petunia had grudgingly told him that one of the street lights had fallen on the car right when they were about to pull off. That explained the flash of green and the sound of metal screeching under the weight of the object. And the screams.

Shuddering lightly, Harry pulled himself from those morbid thoughts and focused on Ron. He realized that Ron was speaking.

"…like you're all alone. I have no one to go home to really. The people here are like my family." Ron sighed and placed the basket between them, flipping the lid up. He watched Harry from the corner of his eye for a second before reaching in and grabbing a small finger sandwich.

Harry got the gist of what Ron had said and it made him blush that Ron considered him family though it also disappointed him for some reason. "Yeah, we're like our own little family up here."

There was a silence in which they enjoyed each other's company and ate before Ron spoke again. "I think this is far better than anything I could have had with my family, with Hermione. Just you and I. There's no tension, nothing you expect of me more than just me being around." Ron leaned back on his right hand, using the other one to comb through his hair. "I like that, the simplicity."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. It was getting a bit warm up here just now even though the wind was picking up. The sound of Ron's voice spread warmth through him, made his insides clench. He had a sudden urge to be closer, to hear Ron say more, talk more about how he enjoyed Harry's company.

"I know that sounds like a bunch of crap but its true." Ron whispered, his voice almost lost in the wind.

Harry shook his head, training his eyes on Ron's passive face. "I don't think it is, it's probably the nicest thing anyone's ever said." Harry bit his lip and let his eyes slip to the basket between them.

Suddenly, Ron began laughing, his head swinging over towards Harry.

Harry's eyes jerked up at the sound of his friend's laughter, a smile spreading across his face instinctively, feeling the beginnings of a laugh tickling his gut. "What?" He asked.

"Nothing." Ron shook his head. "I just had this weird urge to laugh. I always get that when…" His voice faded, as did his laugh. He fixed Harry with this serious expression as if trying to figure something out.

Harry squirmed under that gaze and looked away, picking at the grass beneath his fingers. From the corner of his eye he could see the edges of Ron's mouth quirk up into a small smile. His face heated as his eyes lingered on those lips. Naughty images began peeking through his consciousness. He wondered what those lips would feel like sucking softly against his neck, or pressed against his own. Harry blinked down at the grass rapidly, his breath catching in his chest. It was as if he were a teenager all over again.

"Harry, are you alright?" Ron asked, noticing the distracted look.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, just fine Ron."

Ron stared at Harry, watching the red that sprang up his cheeks and the tips of his ears. His eyes slipped down to the curve of Harry's neck, kissed lightly with the sun's rays. He looked lower at the sharp edge of Harry's collar bone that peeked out from the collar of Harry's jacket and shirt. His eyes shot up with the movement of Harry's Adam's apple as it bobbed up and down as he swallowed. Ron swallowed too, picturing what Harry would taste like, what sounds would escape those full lips if he did the things springing to his mind.

He quickly looked away.

Harry was smacked with a sudden sense of grief at all of the things that he didn't have, all of the things that were being flaunted so openly below him. His eyes watered without his knowing and he didn't notice them sliding down his cheeks until Ron's voice broke the surface of his thoughts.

"I'm sorry Harry, did I upset you?"

Harry blinked, causing more tears to slide down his cheeks. Ron watched as Harry's sorrow gathered at the edges of his lashes trapped there until he opened his eyes, exposing bright green pools that swam with pain.

"No, I was just thinking." Harry said, his voice fairly stable. He sniffed and was about to wipe at the tears when something warm pressed against his cheeks. Harry looked over to see Ron leaning over the basket between them, his thumb rubbing over the trail his tears had left, sweeping up the fresh ones that followed. There wasn't anything he could say. He just studied Ron's face curiously.

"I'm sorry." Ron whispered again, drawing his hand back.

Harry caught it by the wrist, his grasp light to allow Ron to pull away. Ron didn't. "It's alright." Then he let go slowly, his fingers brushing against the ginger hairs that were nearly invisible on Ron's arm before falling to his side.

"Harry," Ron began, but words failed him after that as he watched more tears appear at the corners of Harry's eyes. His thumb began to move, sliding over Harry's cheek, down to brush against the corner of Harry's mouth. He felt it twitch under his thumb and his eyes moved to that spot while his thumb ran over the bottom lip. He drew in a breath as those lips parted just slightly, allowing warm breath to fan over his hand.

Their eyes met.

Harry looked away first, turning his head away from Ron's touch. It was like a slap in the face. Ron pressed his lips firmly together, drawing his hand away as he also turned his head the other way. He wasn't sure what had just happened but, for a second, he felt happy, curious, afraid… open. This was nothing like what he felt with Hermione. Nothing.

"This is Harry Potter father." Dean beamed, slinging an arm around Harry's shoulder.

"Harry Potter, the Golden Boy?" Dean's father boomed in a deep, baritone voice that rang out over the many people crowding the area.

Harry smiled and held out his hand to shake that of Dean's father's. "Nice to meet you sir." Harry said.

"Oh, the pleasure is mine. Dean here told me about you, how you're very modest. Those are the best qualities in a man, you know. When you're done here maybe you could work for me-"

"Dad!" Dean whined childishly. He gave Harry a 'I'm-so-sorry-about-this' look. "We can discuss that later, now I think we should enjoy the beverages that Tom so graciously supplied for us. Like the whiskey for instance." Dean was already eyeing the drink table.

Harry chuckled.

"On track mind, my son." Dean's father said somewhat proudly. Harry laughed this time.

"Yes, that's Dean." Already having disappeared to the table containing the beverages, Dean leaned over and sneezed into his sleeve. He blinked then looked around and Harry and his father. "You two talking about me behind my back?" He asked with an accusing glare.

Harry and Dean's father shook their heads rapidly. Harry was struck with how much Dean resembled his father. It was uncanny. They had the same smile, the same laugh, the same eyes, hair, teeth, everything.

Harry sighed as he was left alone and sat down on an empty bench, eyes scanning the crowd. He didn't spot any red hair. Part of him was relieved and part of him was a little let down. He wished Ron would come find him and drag him out of here but he supposed he'd upset the man. It was written clearly on his face. Harry felt dreadful afterwards but there was nothing he could do to take it back. Instead, he'd thanked Ron for the lunch and mumbled something about meeting Dean. And here he was, sitting and watching everyone with their families. Harry tipped his head back and peered up at the rock he'd been sitting on. He spotted a lone figure standing there before it turned and walked away.

Harry wasn't surprised to find the sleeping quarters unusually empty. Most of the men were with their families in hotels and the rented houses that Tom supplied as a means to make even more money and the few left were probably in the shower. Harry plopped down on his small cot, placing his face in his hands.

Footsteps caught his attention and his head snapped up, eyes hopeful. Oh, it was only Neville. "Hey Neville." Harry said after the man had settled down. "Why aren't you with your Gran?"

Neville turned his eyes to Harry and smiled sadly. "She's old Harry. I love her and all but I refuse to sleep in the same room with her. Besides, she couldn't make it."

Understanding, Harry nodded and decided that now was a good time to have a good shower. He leaned over and unbuckled the latches of his trunk, flipping it open to extract a pair of sleeping trousers. He tossed them over his shoulder with a small sack that contained all of his cleaning things. He stood and headed for the shower.

There was only one shower going when Harry entered but the room was still pleasantly warm and damp. Smiling contentedly, Harry made his way to a shower near the very back, passing a brown haired stranger on his way. He set his things down on the bench just outside the shower before walking in, stark naked and not caring really. He just wanted to feel the warmth and relaxation that the hot water brought on as it pounded away at his skin.

He turned the dials, twisting and tapping them until the water was just shy of too hot to stand under. He stepped underneath, tipping his face up to the ceiling as he let out a quiet groan. It didn't matter what happened during the day because all his worries were washed down the drain during these moments when there was nothing but him and the hot water, cleansing his skin and soul of all his troubles.

Harry just stood there, like he always did, drinking in the hot bliss that soothed his muscles. He turned so that the spray pelted his back. He felt the muscles loosen and unknot themselves. He rolled his shoulders to help.

"Mind if I join?"

The voice startled Harry out of his peaceful state, causing him to jump grandly, leaning back against the wall just under the shower head. Blinking away the drops of water that blurred his vision, Harry found Ron standing there, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist so that the muscled lines of his pelvis were visible. Harry swallowed and gathered himself, reminding himself that this was just a shower and this was just Ron. "Er, sure." He turned his face down towards the tiled floors as he felt another blush coming on.

There was no way he would feel completely comfortable with Ron standing so close. Yes, there was another shower head but it was right beside his! He leaned forward so that the shower spray dampened his head as he closed his eyes, stepping forward so that the water cascaded over his whole body.

Harry tried to keep his mind away from the fact that Ron was standing next to him, naked with water running all along his body, dipping into the lines of his muscles. He tried to ignore the fact that the mystery brunette from before was exciting the room to leave them completely alone. He opened his eyes and turned to face the shower spray. He groaned again, his head falling back instinctively. His eyes shot open and he looked over at Ron hoping that he hadn't heard.

Ron stared. There was nothing else to call it. From the moment he had entered the shower room his blue eyes had instantly zeroed in on Harry. Neville told him that's where he figured Harry had gone. And as he had come to stand in the opening of the very shower Harry stood in, Harry had turned to face him. Oh, it had been so hard not to stare then, to let his eyes trace every curve and dip of tanned, muscled, i wet /i skin. But now, standing beside Harry as he groaned, exposing his neck like he wanted it to be kissed and sucked and nibbled… he could only stare.

He realized that Harry was looking at him and quickly leaned over to grab his shampoo. He squeezed an excessive amount onto his hand and slapped the liquid onto his head. He used the tips of his fingers to massage his scalp, biting his lip to keep in his own moans. He loved the feeling of fingers pressing against his hair, in it, massaging. It was so relaxing. It melted the tension in his shoulders as his eyes fluttered closed. It was like a sin.

Harry thought the same. It was like a sin to watch Ron enjoy his shampoo so openly though he could tell his friend was holding back moans. Harry wished he wouldn't. He wanted to hear those sounds rumble deep in his chest, unshielded, unabated. His eyes slipped down to the shining tanned arse. He just couldn't allow himself to look at Ron's other bits. It was too bold. His arse would do for now. But even that was too much.

In a flash, he pictured Ron fingering himself, using the shampoo and water to slick his way as his fingers pressed against the bud of his entrance, splitting the tight ring and sinking deep inside. He stifled a noise and looked away. Oh no, he was getting an erection in the shower with Ron…

"So how was it?" Ron asked.

Harry glanced over at room as he lathered up. "Hm?"

"Your visit with Dean's father, how was it?" Ron paused in the washing of his hair to look at Harry.

"Oh, that. It was alright. After we met Dean drunk himself silly with his father not far behind. I left after that. I… I tried to find you but you disappeared." Harry looked down at the drain as suds swirled and disappeared down its metal net.

Ron made a strange noise before speaking, "Yeah, I needed some alone time. To think."

Harry nodded. He understood that because he often disappeared to think.

"Harry, about earlier…"

"No need to explain Ron." This was what Harry was dreading. Ron was about to tell him it was all a mistake. "I understand." His voice was softer this time.

Ron looked at Harry, brow creased. "What do you mean?"

Harry was silent as he stared down at the drain. He sighed and met Ron's eyes. "I understand… If it was a mistake." He quickly looked away and stepped deeper into the spray, letting the water wash away the suds. It didn't wash away the tight coil of nervousness growing and twisting in his stomach.

Ron actually looked relieved. "Harry," He said with a bit of a smile in his voice. "That was no mistake."

Harry looked back up at Ron, eyes squinted to keep the water from his eyes. "Oh…"

Ron nodded and dipped his head forward to get the suds from his hair. There was silence and then Ron swore loudly.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, freezing in the process of pouring some of his own shampoo into the palm of his hand. A lazy waterfall of clear green jell spouted from the opened end of the bottle.

"Soap!" Ron shrieked. "In my eye!"

Harry nearly dropped his bottle but had the sense to place it on the floor before letting the water wash the pile of jell from his hands. "Come here, let me see." He said without thinking, grabbing Ron's slick shoulder with one hand and turning the slightly taller man to face him.

"No, I'm fine. Really Harry, I'll be al- shit! It burns!"

Harry chuckled, despite himself and yanked on Ron's wrist, removing his hand from his eye. He stepped forward and placed his finger under Ron's chin, tilting his head backwards so that he could get a good look. He stared for a moment, leaning forward. "It… it looks fine to me."

"Probably because it is."

Harry frowned. "What?"

But that was all he could get out. Ron leaned forward and pressed his lips softly against Harry's, eyes fluttering closed at the soft contact. Time was frozen, waiting for them only. At that moment, the world revolved around them. Just them and their kiss, their lips, their hearts beating like wild drums in their chests.

It was nice, nicer than Harry could have ever imagined. It was chaste, soft yet it was a promise of things to come, no pun intended. He felt himself being drawn towards Ron, skin seeming to heat as a need he'd never felt began to blossom somewhere near the pit of his stomach. Ron's tongue slipped past his lips to brush lightly at Harry's closed mouth before his lips opened and sucked Harry's bottom lip between them.

Harry gasped, mouth falling open at how gentle it was, how sensual it was. His hand danced up Ron's shoulders to rest against his neck, drawing him closer. In turn, strong, wide hands slipped around his waist, fingers fanning out to touch the dimples just above each cheek. He groaned lightly, pressing their bodies together, breathing in sharply as he felt something stiff, wet and hot press into his hip. He broke the kiss and looked down at Ron's erection, purple at the tip, and straining. Harry gawked, never having seen anyone's prick but his own. He marveled at how nice it looked, how thick it was. His eyes fell upon the patch of ginger curls just at the base and then the heavy sacks hanging there, dripping with shower water.

He wanted… He didn't know what he wanted, but he wanted it, and badly. He looked up into Ron's eyes. The look he received knocked him breathless. It was so raw, the need he saw there, the lust and unrefined need for Harry, just Harry. He nearly cried but he would save the tears for a proper moment, for this… this was not it.

This time, Harry took the lead. He leaned forward and kissed Ron softly, like before. It didn't last long as their bodies called to each other. Harry's lips fell apart, allowing Ron's hot tongue to travel into his mouth, to explore and dance and map to his hearts content, all the while Harry began to melt, legs growing weak from the feelings coursing through him. They were so different and so heady that all he could do was ride them through.

Ron's hands slipped lower, hands cupping Harry's arse, a cheek in each palm, squeezing the round supple rump with groan that sent electric heat straight to Harry's cock. Ron squeezed again, forcing Harry's hips to dig into his own, erections sliding along each other's abdomens. They gasped together, the new sensation sparking something inside both of them. Ron rolled his hips forward, the friction too good to keep quiet, too good to keep to his self.

Harry took the hint and ground against Ron and slowly, they began a steady rhythm that neither of them felt would last too long. They clung to each other, gasping, moaning, and kissing each other breathless.

Ron broke the kiss as their rutting picked up pace and became more urgent, more demanding and rough. More, he needed more, somehow he had to get more of Harry. This wasn't enough, it would never be enough. His lips descended on Harry's neck, parting to allow his tongue to sweep up and down its length. Harry stiffened, hands clutching Ron's own neck before sliding to his shoulders. His hips jutted forward sharply. "Ah, Ron! Mm…" He tilted his head, allowing more access, more pleasure.

Heat wound deep inside him, making him frantic, needy. He pleaded with Ron, because he needed more, he begged him to fuck him, begged him to suck him, begged him to… to anything. He just begged. That's what you do when you want something so badly you couldn't breathe, needed something so much that nothing else mattered. "Ron, please, I don't think… huh… gn…"

Harry's legs lifted and wrapped about Ron's waist, his head resting on Ron's shoulder as he ground harder, faster, deeper until he couldn't see straight anymore, until his eyes had gone cross. He moaned as Ron's fingernails dug into his ass, panting hard as he everything began to center solely on the friction between them. His moans turned into helpless whimpers. Ron's grunts turned to moans, long and drawn out. Harry looked up at Ron, eyes hooded, mouth open, hair sticking to his forehead. More whimpers escaped him as he bounced and rubbed against Ron.

Ron bit his lip, rolling his hips in circles against Harry, eyes falling on Harry's face as he detached himself from the growing bruise on his neck. He was steadily creeping up to the edge and Harry's expression, it was in itself was wanton. He leaned forward and whispered in Harry's ear, "You're mine, baby."

Harry cried out, having finally been pushed to the limit. With a jerk, he spilled his seed between them, slicking their stomachs with sticky white. His head fell forward as he watched his cock twitch and spurt more and more of his essence onto Ron. It was such an erotic sight, thick white cum sliding down Ron's abs. And then, to his surprise, Ron's cock twitched and white shot up straight into his face, along his nose and mouth and chin. Gasping, he jerked his head back but instantly fell against Ron, boneless, tired, happy.

The stress of mining had long melted away.


End file.
